Despite Impossibilities
by SweetNothingness
Summary: ONESHOT. Hunger and moonlight and the impossibilities of irrevocability over storytelling. Wendy and Hook.


_This is oh-so-pointless, but it makes me happy._

_I'm leaving, _

_I'm leaving_

_Do me a favor don't even think of me now_

_Just when you thought this was over_

_It had only just begun_

_Just when you thought it was over,_

_It'd only just begun._

"Tell me a story."

Wendy knew better than to trust the honeyed tone, blue eyes sparkling against the endless whirl of iridescent black hair and sarcasm, smooth features sharpened to a clean edge. She remained quiet, still as a bird on her perch, knees drawn to her chest and spine curved to match the wood of the wall of the _Jolly Rodger. _ Ethereal, the moonlight stroking the curve of her smooth cheek, coils of nut-brown curls inky in the light followed the taut line of her throat to rest on her collar bone.

"A story?" Her voice was hushed, despite herself, matching the whisper of the surf against the air, "what kind of story?"

"You know." He didn't want to say it. Without elaboration, he leaned his bare forearms against the ship wall, his shirtsleeves brushing her foot where it rested chilled and bare. The moonlight was kind to him. It smoothed the wrinkle of stress that usually resided on his brow, filling his eyes with light so when he looked at her, those of a wolf made the pit of her stomach warm. She cast her eye down to her right, noting how easily he could push her, how easily she would fall, into the black depths below.

"Once upon a time," her voice was no stronger than a wisp of mist on the breeze, "there was a man. He had a hook for a hand, and eyes bluer than the seas he sailed."

The Captain rested his face against her knee, face tilted towards her, hook glittering in the starlight. She paused as the warmth of his skin registered as a relief, the slight prickle of his stubble as sharp as the gaze which raked her own.

"He had but one fault; he was the villain."

A rueful smile quirked his lip, and Wendy Moira Angela Darling couldn't stop herself from reaching forward to brush a curl from his forehead, the pale light casting an expression in her eye that surely should not be there. Want and desire and a thousand nuances pricked her expression into a mask of need, a mask that should not exist when faced with James Hook.

"He was cast into the mold of a villain. To be hated, to be defeated. To be- killed." Her voice broke as his fingertips grazed up her calf, from the hollow beside her ankle-bone, to the crease beneath her knee. "Captain-"

"Hush." He murmured, ignoring her stifled, airy moan, stroking her smooth skin further up her thigh to rest on her hip, the other arm wrapping around her waist. "Finish the story, my dear."

"He- he was given two-dimensional values of evil with no cause, the dark to combat the light of childhood, of Peter. But… he wasn't." She tore her gaze from the stars and looked into his eyes instead, shimmering and dusted with the reflection of their light, pupils as black as the sea below. "He was real."

"You don't feel real." He whispered against the skin of her thigh, eyes darting down to avoid her gaze, fingers tightening on her hip. "And you look like a waif tonight."

"I'm not real. Not really. I'm not the protagonist. The devil's advocate between you and the hero." She leaned her head back as his lips brushed her skin again.

"You do speak rubbish, darling."

"It's quite true. Every storyteller could tell you the same."

"I don't care for other storytellers." He pressed himself against the ship wall to bury his face into her neck, lips and teeth smoothing the pale skin he found there.

"Well they would agree with me that this is not the way of things. You should be dead, Captain. We shouldn't be here."

"Oh my darling," his voice dropped, as quiet as the stars, as worldly as Wendy's past, "where's the fun in that?"

Without another word, the pirate captain kissed the girl, his lips warm and very real, soft and hard as his tongue touched the seam of her mouth. Despite the impossibility and with the haze of dreams blurring the reality, the sharpness of the scene remained in the sharp scent of salt and pine, the bite of his teeth on her skin, the husky moan of want. Despite everything, they remained.


End file.
